


the centre can hold

by theworstchosen1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Harry and Hermione are basically siblings, after the war, harry and hermione go to australia, hermione finds her parents, moving forward
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:49:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24338416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworstchosen1/pseuds/theworstchosen1
Summary: He was a little delirious at all times- with exhaustion, with grief, with elation. There was too much emotion in his chest.Excerpts of Harry, Ron, and Hermione immediately after the war.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	1. 1

It had been three days. 

It felt like longer- it felt like no time at all. Harry knew time was moving, but at times he didn’t know why, or how, or when it passed. He was a little delirious at all times- with exhaustion, with grief, with elation. There was too much emotion in his chest. It surely couldn’t hold it all. 

Often, he felt like he was still there. Watching Voldemort fall to the ground, the thud of that impact, his ears ringing, a wand in each hand. 

Or a little later, when everyone finally let go of him, except two- Ron and Hermione, last to let go. And they didn’t. They just held each others’ hands, and stared, uncomprehending, at one another. _It was over._

They had hugged, then. Like they hadn’t done for years, the three of them squished together, different heights and arms wrapped around each other, and all of them were crying. It wasn’t until that moment, face in Ron’s shoulder, Hermione’s arm like steel around his waist, that Harry had let himself believe it was real. 

They had stayed at Hogwarts that night. Harry had slept for 12 hours straight, and he had not dreamt. He had awoken to Ron, who unlike Harry, had not slept. Hermione was in the room too, and the three of them got one more moment to be themselves, together, before they had to face the castle. The bodies, the broken families, the wreckage. There was nothing to do, now. Voldemort had been killed. Harry had nothing to escape the press on his chest, the pain. Ron was grey with it. Hermione quiet with it. 

They went home with the Weasley’s. George hadn’t said a single word. 

Grief had brought the house to silence, which ached. The silence made it impossible to escape, impossible to move beyond. The Burrow had never been a quiet place. Never been still and silent like this. Mrs. Weasley was still, too. She didn’t cook or clean or chase. Harry had never seen her sit still for so long- she was a being in motion, except now. Arthur was the one who made dinner, and cleaned up, and made sure everyone had a bed. 

Harry was in Ron’s room. Hermione was in Ginny’s. It seemed a little ridiculous to do that- Harry was sure Hermione and Ron would have rather been together, and Harry and Ginny hadn’t found a moment to talk beyond a few words- but it kept the normalcy, so they kept it. 

And none of them did that much sleeping. The first night in the Burrow, Harry had given up. Pulled on shoes and a jumper and muttered something to Ron, who was also lying awake, eyes on the ceiling. 

“I’m gonna try fresh air. Wanna join?”

“I’m okay. I’ll stay.” 

So Harry had crept out of the silent house alone, out the back door, and found somewhere to sit on the grass, tilting his face into the breeze. It was warm, unusually warm, for May. 

When he eventually went back upstairs, he had stopped before entering Ron’s room at the sound of voices. 

It was George in there. George talking. George and Ron crying. And Harry hadn’t heard a single word out of George since the battle. So he had turned, and made his way back down every set of stairs, and dozed in an armchair until dawn.

He thought he would sleep the next night, but again, restlessness plagued him- the need to be doing, acting, fighting. He hadn’t rested like this in a year. Maybe a few years. And besides, George needed his brother. 

So he pulled on a jumper and shoes, had the same whispered exchange with Ron, and left the room. Only this time, he met Ginny on the stairs. 

She was closing the door painfully slowly, wearing a lilac sweatshirt, her hair loose around her shoulders. She spotted him, and nodded at her bedroom door. 

“Hermione has just got to sleep. I’ll only wake her up.”

Harry nodded, and held out his hand. Ginny took it, and they walked downstairs, through the silent house, out the back door, and into the garden. It was cold, fresh, clean. The air filled his lungs and blew away cobwebs that had been forming in his chest. There was dew on Ginny’s bare feet. 

They kept that one point of contact- hands clasped. Looking up at the blue night sky, Harry wondered if the only part of him that was real was the part touching her. 

“I wasn’t ready.” Ginny said softly. “To lose anyone.” 

He looked at her. She’d braided her hair a few days ago and kept the plaits in- fluffy strands had pulled free where she had slept. 

“I think I was. I think that’s almost worse.” He replied. 

She looked up at him. “None of them did it for you.” She said. Not chastising- comforting. “Every single one of them did it for themselves. For their families. Because it was right. Just because you led the fight, doesn’t mean they died following you.” 

Harry said nothing. Something in him has settled, finally still, at the simple honour of being utterly known. 

Finally, he said; “when did you get so clever?” It’s not enough, but she understood it. 

“Loss changes a person.” She said with a half smile. And then they both crumpled- because it was the sort of thing Fred would have said, a joke that hits a little too hard, that reminds you that even the darkest things can be made better by unrelenting joy. 

He pulled her close, and she held him tight. When she shivered in his arms, he tugged them down onto the porch, and they curled together against the door to the Burrow. It had been days since the battle, but Harry hadn’t seen Ginny be _held_ by anyone. She hugged her mother, her brothers, sat with George until he ate something, but she hadn’t just let herself be held, offering nothing in return. 

So that was what they did. And they watched the sky get lighter, watched the sun make each droplet of dew shine. And they talked. On and on. Ginny told him about Hogwarts, about sneaking through the castle with Neville and Luna, breaths held as they hid from the patrolling death eaters. She told him about how Fred and George smuggled in letters to her disguised as other things- with news, with messages. She told him about stealing the sword of Gryffindor from Snape’s office, about how looking at it made her remember him, clutching it when he was 12 years old, next to a dead basilisk. 

“I don’t miss him yet.” She said softly. “I still think he’s upstairs.” 

Harry thought of looking at Hedwig and knowing Sirius would never write him another letter. Of noticing that hole in his life whenever he looked through it by accident. Now knowing that hole was even bigger- all those he had lost.

Harry told her of the long days and nights in their tent, travelling from place to place, following leads they knew were dead ends. About Ron and him falling out. About Ron and Hermione falling together. About his parents' graves, about riding a dragon, about horcruxes and fear and loss. Bit by bit, they filled in the gaps. 

Harry threaded their fingers together, and pulled her closer against his chest. She was leaning back against it, sat between his legs, playing with his hands as they talked. 

“How about we don’t stay apart this long any time soon.” He said. “Or ever.” 

“That depends- how long can you go without running off for a year to defeat dark wizards?” She teased, but she tilted her head and kissed him, chaste and honest. 

“A lifetime.” He said. 

“Then okay.” She said, smiling. “Never again.” 

They were both cold and stiff by the time they heard movement in the house, but when they finally stood up, Harry could feel his heartbeat thump with a little more certainty. His shoulders a little stronger, his spine a little straighter. He watched the first rays of sunlight catch on Ginny’s hair. So much had been lost, that was true. But a lot had been saved.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione told them one afternoon, two days after the funeral. The whole Weasley family was shaky, like a long-held exhaled breath. 

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were sitting on the lawn in the sunshine. Harry and Hermione leaning against the faded green wall of the shed, the Weasley siblings facing them. Ron was threading strands of grass together, whilst Ginny had her face tilted back into the sun. 

“I’ve got to go get my parents.” She said. 

“I was wondering when you were going to go.” Said Ron. 

“I’m going the muggle way,” she said. “They’ll have to fly back normally anyway, so…”

“You should take dad.” Said Ginny. “That’ll cheer him up.”

“Just telling him about it will cheer him up.” Added Ron, and the two of them exchanged something that was almost a smile. 

Hermione was watching them, and she was smiling, but her hands were shaking. 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked. 

Ron looked at her with sudden concern, and she smiled at him reassuringly. 

“I’m a little nervous to see them. And undo the spell- explain everything I’ve done.” She said. 

“They’ll be so proud of you, Hermione.” Said Ginny. 

She smiled again. “I know they will. It’ll be strange to be without you two, though,” she said, teasing. She nudged Harry in the ribs and took Ron’s hand. 

“I could go with you.” Said Ron. 

“Eager to meet the parents?” Said Harry, which earned him a halfhearted kick in the shin from his best mate. 

“I’ve got to at some point.” Ron said, unafraid, which made Hermione blush a little. 

“As much as that would be nice,” Hermione said, “You don’t have a passport, Ron.” 

“Shit. You’ve got a point there. Always the smart one.” 

“I do.” Harry said. “I could come with you, if you want someone there.”   
Hermione turned to him. “You’d do that?” 

“Of course.” He said with a shrug. She smiled at him, and he slung an arm around her shoulders. He’d always wanted a sibling. Dudley didn’t exactly count. But as Hermuone’s bushy hair caught in the wind and did it’s best to choke him, he felt a sense of immense gratitude to have gained a sister. 

…

Harry loved the journey. Sure, it was long and tiring- it was a long time since travelling somewhere had meant waiting. He had started taking apparition for granted.

But god. He was surrounded by people, on all sides, and not one of them knew who he was, or what he had done, or gave a damn. He watched about four muggle movies with Hermione, who fell asleep on his shoulder for a lot of the flight. 

He missed Ginny, but they had promised to call from Hermione’s parents house, telling them again and again how to work a telephone. 

They landed from their connecting flight in Adelaide in what they were told was the early morning, but Harry was so tired he could barely walk straight. 

“I thought I’d been as tired as I could get, hunting horcruxes.” Muttered Hermione. Her hair was like a mane. “I’ve been proved wrong.” She was on edge at the thought of seeing her parents, he could tell. But she was also anxious to get there- she could barely keep still in the car as they drove to her parents neighbourhood. Hermione only had the street name, not the number, but she had put a charm on them so she could find them. 

Harry shielded her as she pulled out her wand and muttered the words. A thin beam of light burst from the tip and shot towards a house- with a wide porch and paneled walls. They stopped in front of it. 

“Here’s where people usually knock.” Harry whispered. 

“Shut up.” She muttered, but her shoulders became a little less tense. “I’ve thought about this again and again. I went to sleep sometimes thinking about it. What I’d say to them. I never really thought I’d get to come here and actually say any of it.” 

She took a step forward, and stopped. “I just… god. The thought of them seeing me- and not knowing-”

“Do you want me to knock?” 

“No. But thanks.” And she strode up the stairs. 

A woman with dark hair answered the door with a polite smile. Hermione’s shoulders shook, and for a second Harry thought she would forget the memory spell and fall into her mother’s arms. But instead she said something quietly. Mrs Granger’s face morphed from puzzled to shocked, and she moved aside to let Hermione into the house. 

Hermione gestured to him to follow, her expression tight. Harry wondered what she had said to get her mother to let them- two strangers- in. 

Mrs Granger led them in silence through the house. It was nice- open plan, with wooden floors and soft rugs. Plants were everywhere, and other clutter, but Harry noted the lack of pictures on the wall. He assumed a lot of their past memories didn’t make sense. 

Out the back doors was a wide deck with a soft sun lounger and a swing seat. In one lounger was a man with very curly brown hair and glasses. He put down the paper he was holding when they came in. 

Mrs Granger took the other sun lounger. Hermione fell onto the swing seat as if her strings had been cut. Her hands were shaking. The seat swung at her sudden weight, and she blushed at her parents' startled look. Harry sat down carefully next to her. 

Hermione opened her mouth. “I understand-” she started, and then stopped. “Look, I know this must be-” she tried again. 

Harry touched her hand, and she looked at him, helpless. Mr and Mrs Granger looked at him with confusion, too. “Just do it, Mione.” He said. 

“You’re right.” She said, and without another word, pulled out her wand at her very surprised parents' faces, and said the counter spell in a clear, strong voice. 

Both of them went oddly blank for a moment, and then, slowly, realisation dawned. The slow opening of a flower; they looked at Hermione and saw their daughter. 

Hermione was trembling, but for another long moment it was silent. The first to make a noise was Mr Granger, who, to Harry’s surprise, burst into very noisy tears. Hermione jumped up and fell into his open arms. 

Harry told them he would go make some tea. 

He spent a ridiculous amount of time making it. He pretended it was ignorance at the layout of their kitchen, but that wasn’t true- Mr and Mrs Granger had been in Australia less than a year, and their kitchen was very british. There was an ordinary kettle, and in the cupboard above was tea bags and mugs. 

In reality, he stayed in there because the kitchen window was open, and fragments of the tearful conversation outside filtered through- Hermione explaining what she had done, and why she had done it. Her parents knew about Voldemort, knew about Harry, and were shocked to understand that the war was over. Harry had no intention of interrupting the reunion.

Eventually, conversation out there seemed to ebb, and Harry carried out the tray. Hermione was beaming, as were her parents, although they both looked a little shaken. 

“Harry.” Said Mrs Granger, “it’s so nice to meet you at last. Hermione told us so much about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Harry said, putting down the tray to shake both their hands. 

“Sorry for what you’ve gone through, lad.” Said Mr Granger. “Bloody well done.” 

Harry swallowed thickly. “Couldn’t have done any of it without Hermione.” 

...

It had been a good day. Mr and Mrs Granger had taken them out to lunch, and asked them question after question about the past year. They hadn’t seemed angry at what Hermione had done- it seemed that after their initial shock, they had decided they would have expected nothing less from their daughter. 

Probably through some intuition they didn’t ask much about the final battle- but instead the year of travelling and hunting horcruxes. Hermione took care to make it sound less dangerous than it was, so Harry followed suit, but her parents seemed shocked and scandalised regardless. She left out the worst, too. She didn’t bring up the battle, the fear, the grief. The long days they had spent in autopilot, barely speaking as they struggled forward. She skipped right over Malfoy manor, but Harry saw her hand move to her forearm- the scars underneath. One day she would have to show them, he thought. But not tonight, when she had just found them again. 

Eventually Ron had come up- and to Harry’s amusement Hermione had blushed a glorious magenta. 

Harry, who had been bought several beers by Mrs Granger, happily divulged that Ron and Hermione were together- and that Ron would have been there if he had a passport. They both insisted on meeting him when they came back to England. 

The Granger’s house had only one spare bedroom, but Harry and Hermione weren’t exactly bothered- they had shared a tent for a year. Lying in the dark, however, Harry was aware that Hermione wasn’t sleeping. She sighed, finally, and rolled onto her back to look up at the dark ceiling next to him. 

“Do you think I did the right thing?” She said. “They’ve lost a whole year- they haven’t spoken to anyone from home because they keeping asking where I am, what I’m doing. And they couldn’t answer. They didn’t think they had a daughter. They felt like strangers amongst their own friends.” 

Harry considered. “What they went through because of your spell was nothing compared to what they could have gone through. There’s no way of knowing, but they might have been used against you.”

She sighed again. “I suppose you’re right. The thing is- I don’t want them to know. The bad stuff. The battle. The deaths. What we went through. Bellatrix-” she broke off. 

Harry took her hand, squeezed it. Knowing that under the sleeve of her shirt were the scars- carved into her skin. And into her head. 

“I dream about that sometimes.” She said. “More than I dream about the battle.”

Harry squeezed her hand again. “Ron dreams about it too.”

“He does?”

“You didn’t see him. I thought he was going to rip down the walls of the mansion with his bare hands. I could barely get him to listen to me as I told him what we were going to do.” 

Hermione was quiet. She sniffed, almost inaudibly. “I miss him.” She said softly. “Is that dumb?”

“I miss Ginny.” Harry said. “And Ron, actually. I’m not sure I could get used to living far from you two these days.” 

Hermione squeezed his hand. “You won’t have too.”


End file.
